


safe spaces

by mysticTwirl



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Future Fic, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Time Skip, Pro Volleyball Player Bokuto Koutarou, University Student Akaashi Keiji, mental health talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:40:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25586839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysticTwirl/pseuds/mysticTwirl
Summary: Contrary to popular belief, Akaashi is the big spoon.(and Bokuto deserves to be held)
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 28
Kudos: 396
Collections: Bokuaka Week 2020





	safe spaces

**Author's Note:**

> For everyone who just needs a hug during these times.
> 
> (happy bokuaka week 2020)

It starts with a text.

Constant communication is the punctuation to their everyday exchanges; the bridge to the distance and the all-consuming fact that they were no longer at each other’s presence 24/7.

It starts with a good morning text, a ‘have you eaten’ in the middle of day, mindless chatter in the spaces in between, and this, was just one.

> [you]: How was practice today, Bokuto-san?
> 
> [Bokuto-san]: it was okay

Immediately, Akaashi knows something is amiss. The reply comes within fifteen minutes of him asking, a bit late considering he is sure to send it during the approximate time of Bokuto’s post-workout shower; the athlete routinely checks his phone before heading back to the dorms.

That in itself doesn’t make the exchange suspicious. The most damning evidence is the answer. Bokuto never gives a neutral response, he favors choosing a side; highly positive with accompanying exclamation points and emojis, or negative, followed by details or frustrated reaction images.

Akaashi has come to expect that whenever he sends a text, his phone is set to blow up soon after. It only takes one line before his phone vibrates, once, twice, and even more, depending on whatever has gotten Bokuto worked up.

Today he hears the initial vibration, waits a few minutes, then realizes that the athlete has nothing more to say. How odd.

Immediately, the gears start to turn. _Okay_ , what did that even mean? For an average person, that would imply a level of indifference, but Akaashi knew better.

Even if nothing in particular happened to Bokuto today, something always caught his attention. He could go on tangent on what the Jackals obsessed over for the day, a cool move one of his teammates did, a new routine he performed with Jackasuke. Bokuto could narrate their routine drills like a full-on volleyball match with an earnest enthusiasm.

It’s one of the things Akaashi looks forward to, Bokuto’s sincere need to share every single interest with him. It was less about Bokuto wanting to talk about himself and more on his desire to include Akaashi in his life.

With every text came an unspoken, _this made me happy I hope it makes you happy too_. With every story, anecdote on his day- highs, lows, and all, came with a, _I wish you were here, I was thinking about you._

Which brings Akaashi to the next damning piece of evidence, Bokuto always asked about his day in return. In the times that Akaashi is too absorbed with his studies to text first, Bokuto would inquire on his state and send a dozen reminders- to rest, to eat, to send a selfie to prove that he’s been sleeping properly.

Akaashi expects at least two vibrations. If the day was really just okay, Bokuto should have followed up with his own questions. But the phone remains silent, a quiet distraction on top of Akaashi’s study table.

It could theoretically be nothing. Maybe Bokuto got distracted and failed to follow up, or perhaps training has left him more tired than usual. But once the gears start to turn, Akaashi is weak to stop them.

They are okay, he is sure of that. He had woken up to his good morning message, received a selfie of the athlete’s pre-proportioned lunch (and sent a sad selfie of whatever item he grabbed from the convenience store in return), and had gotten a reaction for the meme he forwarded of an owl dancing over peanut butter.

They are more than okay, Akaashi chants to himself. But the boundaries of the new territory they have recently crossed over are daunting.

They are dating, or at least Bokuto insists on courting him (he had gotten the idea from the English literature pieces from Akaashi’s homework and had gotten starry-eyed at the chance to prove his devotion). They are dating, and the idea still makes the tips of Akaashi’s ears tingle; still makes him feel incredibly shy (but oh so terribly happy.)

They reside on different ends of Tokyo. Akaashi is nestled within the college district, a walking distance from his university, while Bokuto is living in the Jackals’ dormitory somewhere more discreet.

All things considered, it is wrong of them to complain about the distance, although this rarely stopped them. It involved taking early train rides to meet halfway during the weekends or secretly spending nights in each other’s rooms.

The commute would be less forgiving during a weeknight, Akaashi tells himself, and the amount of homework he has due would protest to his impulsivity.

But he’s already grabbing his backpack and piling his assignments in, calculating the approximate time it would take to arrive at his partner’s residence.

It’s foolish to decide on a hunch, especially if his concerns prove to be false. But Akaashi has known Bokuto for several years now, and has taken care of him for majority, so he rather take the risk than not be there if he is needed.

The longer his phone stays silent, the more Akaashi worries. Bokuto is known for his tendency to overshare, and yet, there are just some things he’s not ready to talk about.

He grabs his backpack and heads out.

.

When Akaashi arrives at the Jackals’ dorm, without as much as warning, he spends two minutes standing in front of the building contemplating his life choices.

He doesn’t know if he should call, or would a message seem more casual? If he lingers too long, outsiders may suspect him of foul play, but he can’t gather his bearings.

What would he tell Bokuto- that he was just in the area? That he had some sort of inkling based on a single text that things weren’t okay. That he had impulsively decided to brave the commute across Tokyo to drop by unsuspectingly on a weeknight. None of that seemed casual in the slightest.

And how would Bokuto react to his presumptuous attitude? Normal people talked and asked questions. He couldn’t possibly pull an ‘I just missed you’ card, when he physically looked agitated and was not known for grand gestures of romance.

Akaashi’s eyebrows twitch, he could go home and pretend he was never there; Bokuto would be none the wiser. It’s ridiculous, but with only the moon to witness, he feels overexposed.

“Ah, Akaashi-kun,” perhaps the moon wasn’t the only spectator to his turmoil.

“Captain-san,” he acknowledges. Causal, he wills himself, please appear casual.

“Let me buzz you in, Bokkun’s room is on the 5th floor,” Shugo Meian is Akaashi’s savior, and graciously doesn’t inquire to why he’s on team property at such a random hour. His instructions are a formality, surely, he must know about Akaashi’s unsanctioned sleepovers.

Akaashi accompanies his gratitude with a quick bow, he opts to climb five flights of stairs as opposed to getting into the elevator with the captain. He could do without the small talk.

Then, Akaashi is in front of Bokuto’s room, albeit panting from the impromptu workout. He buzzes in the password, _0405_ , and the door clicks open- he’s in.

The lights are off when he enters. The door opens into a miniature kitchenette, notably Bokuto’s packaged dinner sits untouched on the counter.

The dark does not deter him, the space still feels familiar. He sets his backpack beside a hastily discarded gym bag, dodges a pair of toppled shoes, and manages to avoid the sharp edge of a coffee table that is slightly off center.

He sees an unfamiliar shadow that causes him to double-take. The scene is alarming at first glance, but the more Akaashi looks, the more the obscure shape takes form.

There is a blanket hanging from the wall, cascading down into a sloppy tent-like structure on top of Bokuto’s bed. Pillows are propped against the sides but it’s obvious that they lean into a much bigger figure in the middle.

“Bokuto-san?” Akaashi asks, unsure of what to make of the bedroom structure.

The blanket parts open and a pillow tumbles ever slightly, a messy mop of hair peaks out.

“Agkaashi?” Bokuto’s eyes widen, and as if to do a reality check, he brings his palms to rub against his eyes, “Akaashi, it is you!”

The whole structure rumbles at his exclamation. Akaashi sees that the blanket is held by a hook on the wall over his bed, a bout of ingenuity to replace the picture frame that once hung proudly.

The whole scenario is surreal, Akaashi feels like he’s disturbing a cocoon that’s waiting for its time to emerge, or perhaps a hibernating bear that has built its shelter. It’s so strange that Akaashi momentarily forgets that he is the strange one, intruding on the peculiar ritual without an invitation.

“Akaashi, why are you here?” Bokuto pops his head out to observe his visitor but remains in the structure, guarded and unsure.

“Well I…” Akaashi stumbles, he has yet to think of an excuse, “I was in the area and decided to miss you because we have no homework and I came over.” He groans, he specifically attends university to learn how to string coherent sentences, why has the academia failed him so bad.

“Oh, that’s great,” Bokuto offers, no doubt agreeing to the words he managed to decipher. For a moment they just stare at each other, a college student in distress and a boy in a cocoon.

“Can I come in?” Akaashi tentatively asks, Bokuto’s confusion is palpable.

“But you’re already in my room.” Humiliation is the theme of Akaashi’s night, he’s grateful that the darkness hides just how much he wants to melt into the furniture.

“I mean into your structure, Bokuto-san. You seem to have quite the architectural feat going on.” The blanket is holding on through sheer willpower at best, its strength rivals Akaashi’s.

“Oh,” comes a small voice, and for a moment, Akaashi is mortified at the prospect of being rejected, “Okay sure.”

The flaps open and Akaashi climbs on the bed and into the fortress’ waiting arms. He adjusts a pillow on one side, sits with his knees bent, shoulder to shoulder with the other occupant. Bokuto lets the blanket slide and they are enveloped in darkness.

Just two boys casually sitting underneath darkness, staring into the void. The situation is absurd, Akaashi briefly entertains the possibility that his partner has morphed into an owl hybrid and is following his instinctual nature to find a nest to live in. Will Bokuto emerge with a beak and feathery wings, will the rest of his body finally match his preferred hair style?

The idea is amusing, but highly unlikely. They are both human, and normal humans talked and asked questions.

“Bokuto, what is all of this?”

Akaashi feels his partner tense beside him, it’s much too dark to see his reaction. The space should make him feel claustrophobic but he’s here by choice; concern is enough to override the discomfort.

“What’s wrong?” he tries again, “There must be a reason to why you decided to build this.”

Bokuto mumbles something underneath his breath. He also has his knees to his chest, arms protectively wrapped around them. He seems smaller, like he’s deliberately trying to reduce his size. Akaashi takes in his state, the space they’re in, and realizes, _oh_.

The situation is reminiscent of one of Bokuto’s infamous moods during high school. The signs are all there; Bokuto’s demeanor, his need to be enclosed in a small space, the way his body sags down- dejected.

It has been awhile since Akaashi has witnessed this dejected mode, almost five years in fact. This has yet to occur since they outlined _task focus_ and established a pre-game routine to calm him down.

Bokuto is always playing at his best. His months on the bench for the national team had made him appreciative of any time on court. Now that he’s a recognized star, he carries the same professionalism consistently. His fans today would be bewildered at his less than perfect state.

If dejected mode had already been dealt with, what has caused its reemergence, Akaashi wonders. Back in high school, Bokuto had at least thirty-seven weaknesses triggered by a range of serious to frivolous things. The possibilities are endless, and if there is a new weakness, could they overcome this?

“Bokuto,” he whispers, “please tell me what’s wrong.”

There is no hiding the pained wine that comes from his mouth. Bokuto looks to him with the eyes of a lost child, an older version of his high school self.

“It’s nothing, Agkaashi,” he mumbles, “it’s stupid.”

Akaashi shakes his head, “Nothing is stupid if it’s upsetting you.”

“It’s not important,” he grumbles, “I know it’s stupid, that’s why I don’t wanna tell anybody.” If possible, Bokuto’s hair droops further downward with his gloom.

“Well I don’t think I am just anybody,” Akaashi soothes, “why don’t you tell me, and I’ll decide if it’s stupid or not.” Not that he would ever reduce Bokuto’s concerns to being senseless, but he knows that it’s best to be agreeable for an increased chance of success.

Bokuto seems to take him in, a dark figure that has decided to join him in his haven. They’re protected from the real world, underneath the veil of darkness, it’s just the two of them.

“I am just sayin’ it’s dumb,” he gives a final disclaimer, but continues, “Captain-san announced today that I’ll be having my debut match next week; they’re subbing Hido-kun out and all.”

Akaashi takes a moment to process, it’s been a mere two months since Bokuto has joined the Jackals. They had readily recruited him after his season with the national team, and Bokuto seemed to enjoy their company. Two months is a short time for a debut, they must be eager to showcase their new beam weapon.

“That’s wonderful, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi is confused, “they must really trust in your abilities if they want you on court right away.” Is Akaashi missing something, had Bokuto ever alluded to being unhappy in his new team?

“That’s the problem,” Bokuto whispers, “they seemed really and excited and all, I was excited too but,” he squeezes his eyes shut, as if willing his emotions to contain themselves. “I started to think about what would happen if I mess up and make the team look bad. What if I don’t sync-in well outside of practice and they need to bench me right away. What if the audience hates me and boos me off the court- so many things could happen.”

Akaashi highly doubts the probability of any of the aforementioned scenarios occurring, but it clearly bothers Bokuto, so he shifts closer and tentatively leans his cheek against the athlete’s shoulder.

“What happened,” he asks, “did something occur to make you think about all of this?”

It’s reassuring the way Bokuto leans into his touch, he can feel Bokuto’s own cheek pressed against his head. Akaashi figures if he can find the source of Bokuto’s anxieties, they can work through it together.

“That’s the thing,” he begins tentatively, “nothing really happened. I just started thinking about one bad thing, and then another, then suddenly I couldn’t stop and,” a shuddered breath, “now I don’t know how to stop thinking like this.”

So, this was a different scenario, no trigger to the spiral; Akaashi could see why Bokuto was so hesitant to open up.

“I see, what are you feeling right now?”

The question takes him back to Fukurodani, where freshman Akaashi Keiji first witnessed a dejected Bokuto Koutarou. It had happened during their second practice, Akaashi didn’t know the trigger, just witnessed the aftermath- Bokuto huddled underneath a table, withdrawing into himself. Back then, Bokuto couldn’t tell him what had caused the episode, but that he knew he felt sad.

Back then, volleyball seemed to cure all so Akaashi had accepted his quiet request to toss for him. Within minutes, Bokuto seemed much happier, and the source of his dejection was never brought up.

It had seemed so simple long ago, enough for past-Akaashi to navigate through. Now there were things that volleyball couldn't heal and unavoidable conversations.

“I am feeling sad,” Bokuto tells him, “and scared, but also upset that I am feeling this way, and frustrated with all of this - ugh.” Bokuto entangles his fingers into his head, as if trying to physically contain his thoughts, the sight makes Akaashi’s heart clench.

“It’s okay to feel this way Bokuto-san,” he contemplates on holding his hand, “we can talk about the things that are upsetting you.”

Bokuto slides his palms over his eyes and tries to rub into them, he looks agitated and frustrated. It takes a moment for him to regain his bearings.

“But I don’t want to talk about them with you,”

This serves as a bolt to Akaashi’s heart. Suddenly he feels like an intruder, an unwelcomed addition to Bokuto’s space. His mind screams at his foolishness, to come here without prompt. If Bokuto needed you, he would have said so, screams his traitorous heart.

“I-I mean,” Bokuto turns to him, suddenly realizing the weight of what he had said, “I am happy you’re here Akaashi, I am always happy when I am with you.” Bokuto tries to search for his eyes, but it’s impossible in the dark, so he feels for his hands instead. “I didn’t mean it like that, I just, I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

 _Oh_ , Akaashi’s heart registers.

“I didn’t want you to see me being lame and all,” he must gesture to their fortress, “this is kinda crazy, even for me, not cool at all.”

Yes, the fortress is ridiculous, but it’s a testament to the structure, not Bokuto’s personhood. Akaashi can’t fathom why Bokuto would worry about appearing uncool before him, as if he hadn’t been admiring the athlete since adolescence.

“I don’t want you to see me like this,” Bokuto mumbles, he intertwines their fingers, “you can’t be dating some big baby.”

Akaashi doesn’t do well with anyone talking badly of Bokuto, even if the deprecation comes from the source himself. He can’t bear to hear this slander.

“I am not dating a baby, I am dating you,” he replies, squeezing their fingers for emphasis. But the mood must be truly bad if it does nothing to cheer Bokuto up.

“I am being all moody and mopey just like in high school,” Bokuto admits, “I just want to be ordinary and do normal things that don’t cause problems.”

Normal, Akaashi is starting to hate that word. Where Bokuto had picked it up, he doesn’t know, but the idea seems to resonate with him. Akaashi can describe Bokuto with the fine vocabulary of a literature major, normal isn’t a word he would use.

“You don’t cause problems,” he wills himself to explain, “It’s okay to get moody sometimes, you can always come to me.” _Please_ , he wants to say.

Stubbornly, Bokuto shakes his head, he knows because it threatens the integrity of the blanket. “I don’t want to be the guy who made you cry in high school; I take responsibility now. I am just being dumb.”

Cry, Akaashi needs to reminisce, he’s cried a handful of times during high school, mostly in the confines of his bedroom; which he is sure Bokuto had not been privy to, which leaves-

“You did not make me cry in that match,” ah, their quarterfinals match against Mujinazaka High, “I was the one who got overwhelmed and lost my focus. Our team played wonderfully, and I grew from the experience, everything turned out fine.”

Why would you think of this now, Akaashi desperately wants to know. It happened years ago; the results were inconsequential to the rest of their lives.

Bokuto just shakes his head, unwilling to give a response, this agitates Akaashi.

“You comforted me right after, we talked and moved forward,” Akaashi mutters, “You took responsibility as captain and we made it to finals. I don’t understand why my personal lapse in emotion still plagues you to this day.”

Does Bokuto not think Akaashi can handle whatever has been disturbing him- is this why he had not come to him? Akaashi has his own emotional strifes but he’s perfectly capable of being a supportive partner.

Bokuto gapes, unsure of how Akaashi came to that conclusion. They must remember the match differently. The cause of Akaashi’s stress had been an accumulation of his anxieties on Bokuto’s performance, even though it was their opponent’s tactics that finally broke the camel’s back.

It’s absurd, they were talking about his foils, not Akaashi’s.

“I didn’t say that,” he feels angry at their mess, “I am talking about my emotions,” he gestures to the blanket, “you can’t say this is normal behavior, I don’t want to make you go through this.”

It’s not about normal, if this is Bokuto-behavior then Akaashi is willing to accept it wholeheartedly, why couldn’t he see-

“The fact that I am here means I want to go through this,” he raises his voice, “I had a feeling you weren’t okay and came over. I am here on my own volition; I don’t think you’re being bothersome.”

They’re both worked up but still holding hands, it’s quite sweet. Akaashi navigates their palms so he sandwiches Bokuto’s against his, trying to hold him closer.

“I don’t judge any of this. I am worried because this is the first I’ve seen you in such a state again,” then in a quieter voice, “Is this a first-time thing, or has this been happening a lot? Please talk to me, Koutarou.”

Bokuto’s fingers tremble against his. It’s the first time Akaashi is witnessing his dejected modes up-close. He’s always been an observer, watching him withdraw into any available space, somehow managing to distort his athletic build into something so small. Now that he’s quite literally inhabiting the same space, he feels Bokuto’s loneliness. He shouldn’t have to face this by himself.

“I still get like this sometimes,” his voice is so small, it makes Akaashi’s heart clench. “Not very often and never during games, but sometimes when I am alone. I don’t really know why- it just happens, and I don’t like it. I am usually okay after a few days, so I didn’t want to tell you.”

“You should feel comfortable telling me,” Akaashi repeats, he reaches to touch the top of his head. “We’re dating, you’re my partner and best friend, I want to be here for you.”

“I didn’t like who I was in high school, I gave you a hard time,” Akaashi’s fingers are soothing against his scalp, “I don’t like being difficult. I just want our relationship to be fun and happy, so I hide away when I get like this.”

“I like who you were during high school,” Akashi treads his fingers lightly, up and down, “I like who you are now. Bokuto-san is still Bokuto-san, maybe even more, definitely not less.”

Bokuto leans down further so that Akaashi is petting, his demeanor matches that of a child or baby animal. When he gets like this, he likes to shrink, to feel hidden and secure; Akaashi realizes that Bokuto doesn’t always have the luxury as a big and strong athlete.

“Scoot over,” Akaashi navigates their bodies so they’re leaning against the headboard, he props himself up and stretches his arm. Bokuto acknowledges the invitation, fitting himself against the curve of Akaashi’s neck, his nose to his pulse, chest against his shoulder, he curls up- so small.

Akaashi turns slightly to wrap his arms around the man. Bokuto is the taller and wider of the two, but Akaashi does his best to fully envelop him in his embrace. This is what Bokuto needs, to be held and feel fully protected.

Bokuto sinks his face further into his neck until he can only breathe in Akaashi’s scent. His chin is on the crown of his head, it grounds him. Akaashi’s arms envelop him better than any wall or makeshift fortress ever could. Bokuto scrunches into a ball, Akaashi allows his knees to settle on his thigh. For the first time since Bokuto’s thoughts became too loud, he feels safe.

For a moment, it’s just the two of them existing. Akaashi breathes in and Bokuto makes an effort to match, until their heartbeats are in sync. They’ve shared a bed before but never this intimate, never this sincere. Akaashi rubs soothing circles against the expanse of Bokuto’s back, he has never felt a gentler touch.

“You don’t have to tell me everything,” Akaashi mumbles into his head, he let’s the strands of Bokuto’s undone hair brush against his nose, “but you can be any version of yourself, the good, the bad, I’ll happily accept all of you.”

Bokuto feels tears start to prickles against his eyelids, if he cries now, he’ll get snot all over Akaashi’s neck, but surprisingly, he doesn’t think he’ll be pushed away,

“It’s okay if you don’t always understand what your heart feels, we all need time,” he continues, “but I’ll always care for you just the same. You’ll always be strong Bokuto-san to me, even during bad days.”

Bokuto presses a kiss on his shoulder, it’s not enough to express his gratitude, or the millions of other emotions he’s currently feeling. The noises in his head are still too loud, though the once negative thoughts are slowly being replaced by positive ones.

Akaashi hums and pulls him closer. Akaashi has soft curly hair, a thin and immaculate structure, long and slender hands- his body feels like a fortress.

Bokuto was born in a body that could never reflect his inner turmoil. Broad shoulders, sturdy and hard chest, arms that bumped into walls if he wasn’t careful. His height and structure dictate that he’s to be seen by many, and he’s embraced this with a persona to match. He wants to appear friendly, approachable, but also ferocious and sturdy. But when his insides don’t match his outsides, it feels like a curse.

Under the control of Akaashi’s hold, as the recipient of his selfless affection, Bokuto feels his rawest form being cherished. Like the world has opened up and said, look how your existence fits so well in the arms of another; don’t fear, he is a gift.

Bokuto knows how much his beloved loves words, so much that the latter is willing to go through a curriculum to understand his better. His lack of explanation must be frightening, but his willingness to quite literally bend and adjust to his needs shows signs of a mature love. They are both growing into their new relationship.

“Tell me what I can do, so that next time I’ll know better,” Akaashi asks into his hair, as if he was not being a literal angel in Bokuto’s life right now. “I don’t want you to ever feel like you need to hide something from me. I don’t want this normal you think I need- I want you.”

I want to be normal for you, Bokuto’s mind protests, but he knows it’s a figment of his depressive spiral. Bokuto doesn’t want a lot of things, life has given him plenty, and now he has the chance to make Akaashi as happy as he makes him, he won’t waste it.

“This is a lot,” he admits. Bokuto has not been held since childhood, and never at this capacity. He is hyperaware of where they touch, how Akaashi is trying to mend their bodies when he feels him slip away. “I like this, it feels nice.”

“I guess I don’t really know what I need, it happens so fast,” Bokuto continues, “But I like being with you like this, Akaashi. Only if you’re okay with it… maybe we can just stay like this for awhile.” He tentatively drapes his arm around Akaashi’s waist to reciprocate the hug. They’re unruly and mismatched, it feels perfect.

“Of course, we can,” Akaashi assures, now that he’s had the feeling of Bokuto in his arms, he is more reluctant than ever to let go. “We’ll figure this out together. Next time you decide to rebuild your fortress, tell me so I can bring my blanket as well.”

He’s teasing him, the tone Akaashi uses is so serious, which makes it even more funny. It must feel stuffy to be huddled so close underneath a blanket with no circulation, but Bokuto feels a good type of warm. A kind of warmth that makes his insides feel like soup (not the canned ones, the good kinds.)

Bokuto feels it on the crown of his head, slow and deliberate, a whisper of a kiss. He might feel Akaashi nozzle into his hair a bit, until he lifts himself away, a ghost of fleeting affection.

Bokuto feels the fondness swell, his heart is literally skipping beats. He feels so happy, like a child unwrapping a new toy but multiplied to a thousand. This relationship is shiny and new, but also familiar, he just can’t describe it- it’s a good thing Akaashi is great with words.

“Akaashi,” he begins, suddenly caught with the feeling that he wants to say something, _anything_ , but he can’t quite place it. “Akaaaashi,” he says again, just to feel the satisfaction of his name rolling off his tongue.

“What?” the literature student asks, not exasperated, maybe also fond. “What do you want to say, Bokuto-san?”

Oh, so they are back to last names again, Bokuto doesn’t mind. It’ll take awhile to rewrite that habit of formality between them. What matters is the way Akaashi says it, like his name on his lips made him incredibly happy too.

“Akaashi,” he giggles out, feeling silly, because no matter how many people call him naïve, he knows more than he lets on. He doesn’t let complexities phase him, not when they’re simple at their core. And this emotion, he knows what it means.

 _Oh_ , this is it, he tells himself. He is in love, possibly has been for a long time. It makes perfect sense even if the timing does not, because who else can make him feel so safe, so incredibly whole and strong at once.

“Akaashi,” he says again, because he can’t offer the end of the sentence yet. Not now. He knows it’ll scare his partner, who is equally cautious with his feelings and more mindful of real-world implications. They’ve just begun and Bokuto is willing to wait it out.

“Oh, stop you,” he mumbles into his crown, but he’s laughing too. Short giggles that make his neck tingle and his chest rumble, Bokuto is happy he can feel it so close.

Bokuto starts to laugh too, for no reason besides the fact that he wants to. It’s been a roller coaster of hard feelings; he feels a bit of tension escape his body and bubble into the air, until they float away and pop- disappearing in an instant.

They’re both giggling for no reason, Akaashi still holds him close and Bokuto happily tries to fit their pieces together- legs entangles, arms in between their bodies. Their makeshift fortress couldn’t possibly contain all this excitement, the pure bliss in the air.

Bokuto’s realization manages to ground him, as if he’s become more aware of his being. He has no reason to fear love, no more so than any other feeling; he knows this is special. It’s something he’ll share, eventually, but not tonight- tonight is already perfect as is.

Akaashi giggles and his giggles turn into snorts. Bokuto doesn’t know why he’s laughing, but they’re together and that’s all that matters. Bokuto catches his hand in the darkness and slots their fingers together.

They raise their hands to observe their handholding, an extension of their mismatched pieces. Bokuto’s hand is wide and callused from hours of training, while Akaashi’s is slender and a filled with callouses from hours of writing. Bokuto loves that Akaashi’s fingertips manage to extend past his, they tower over his shorter ones and cross over the expanse of his palm when they intertwine.

“Bokuto-san,” Akaashi whispers in revelation, for a moment, Bokuto is prepared to hear those words, “I am glad you didn’t turn into an owl.”

Another snort, “you say the weirdest things, Akaashi.” He is so weird; he loves him so much.

Somewhere in the middle, they decide to keep their hands together. Bokuto falls asleep to staring at Akaashi’s fingertips, residue of ink from long hours writing essays, reminiscent of his bad habit of tugging at them when nervous; it’s just another part of Akaashi he falls in love with.

He doesn’t know who falls asleep first or when the blanket loses its fight with gravity and encases their sleeping forms. Sometime in the middle of the night, Bokuto will toss and turn, and Akaashi will guide his back onto his chest, still half-asleep but determined to take care of him. Akaashi will have one arm underneath his neck, the other around his torso, and join their hands together once again.

Bokuto will wake up to Akaashi needing to take the first train out to make it to his class, he’ll receive a dozen reminders to eat properly and requests for updates on his current moods. Tomorrow, Bokuto will face the Jackals with a brave smile and prepare for his debut with a focus he has learnt to hone.

But before sleep comes, Bokuto looks at their intertwined fingers and thinks, _oh, I think this might be forever._

Big, scary, but wonderful feelings he’ll one day tell his beloved. Not until they’re a bit older, not until Bokuto has settled into his new team and Akaashi maps out his desired career. Not until they’re both ready, not just as a unit, but as individuals.

Bokuto doesn’t mind if Akaashi doesn’t love him back yet, he wants them both to be sure. So, this shiny, sweet, revelation will have to wait another day.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write about bkak navigating their new relationship and focus more on Bokuto’s emotions. This his ‘moment,’ similar to when he fell for volleyball, where he realizes that Akaashi is his forever. This is a tidbit to my other story, [is it raining](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25146085), to give context to how long Bokuto has imagined a future between them. He knew right away, he’s just that type of guy.
> 
> Of course, Akaashi is into Bokuto too. It's just a leap from like-like to in-love to forever-love, but he gets there soon enough.
> 
> If you enjoyed this, please leave a kudos and comment because it really motivates me to keep writing. This is my 2nd bkak week piece, check out the first!  
> And let’s talk! You can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/itsfluffyham) | [tumblr](https://fluffysparklyham.tumblr.com/) I do short ficlets, bkak tweets, and love interacting with new people. See you there!


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